


Do The Unthinkable

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: 24-year-old April has been dating Malik Avery for six months and their relationship is decent. That is, until she meets Malik's middle-aged father... Jackson.
Relationships: Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Kudos: 31





	Do The Unthinkable

**Author's Note:**

> so im not sure how many parts this will end up being, or how fast ill update it (knowing me right now...slow) but this was an idea that came to me and i HADDDD to write it! enjoy! (and review!!)

**APRIL**

As I sit in a leather armchair in Malik’s dad’s basement, I’m way past the point of being annoyed.

He and I have been dating for almost six months. He’s been between apartments for two of those months, and this is the first time he’s let me come over. 

He’s sitting on the end of his bed, leaning forward with a game controller in his hands and a headset on his head. He’s been shouting at his friends on Xbox Live for almost two hours. I brought a book, but I can’t concentrate when he’s shouting obscenities that I’ve honestly never heard before in my life. I’ve scrolled through Instagram five times already, nothing is new on Twitter, and Facebook is a lost cause. 

I try to get his attention without having to spell it out. I adjust the way I’m sitting, crossing one leg over the other, and clear my throat. He doesn’t look, though, so I stand up and make my way over to him. I’ve seen this thing on TikTok where girls straddle their boyfriends while they’re playing video games, and it always gets a cute reaction. 

I try it with Malik, folding myself onto his lap and finding a way to maneuver around the controller. 

“Babe, babe,” he says, craning his neck to keep his eyes on the screen. “I can’t see. Babe! I just… goddammit, I just died. Why’d you do that?” 

I roll my eyes and don’t bother answering, I just dismount with a huff and trudge back to the armchair. He shoots me a confused look - truly not understanding my frustration - and directs his attention back to the game. 

“No, I’m here,” he says. “Sorry, my girlfriend just…” Someone must cut him off, because he stops talking and laughs. “Shut the fuck up, Keem. She’s way outta your league.” 

I roll my eyes again, this time harder. By now, it’s clear that I’m not going to get anywhere with being passive aggressive. But confrontation is hard, and I don’t like fighting with him, no matter how much he irritates me. 

“I’m just gonna go,” I say, standing up to gather my things. 

“Babe,” Malik says, glancing over - but only for a second. The game calls him back before long. “You just got here.” 

“Yeah, two hours ago,” I say, arms crossed. 

“I thought you were gonna spend the night,” he says, still torn between me and the screen. 

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” I say, fuming. 

“So, why’re you leaving?” 

“‘Cause you’re obviously busy,” I say, gesturing towards the TV. “Even though we were supposed to hang out tonight. But it’s whatever.” 

“Hey, stop,” he says. “Why’re you mad now?”

“I’ve  _ been _ mad!” I say. “Why would I come over just to listen to you scream on Xbox? I want to spend time with you.” 

“Me, too,” he says. “I thought you wanted to just hang, though.” 

“This is not hanging,” I say. “Me watching you play video games in your dad’s basement is  _ not _ hanging. We’re not in high school. This is pathetic.” 

“Damn,” he says. “Tell me how you really feel.” 

“You could’ve come to my place and I would’ve made us dinner,” I say. 

“Yeah, well, me and Reyna don’t really get along.” 

Reyna is my German Shepherd. My dog. Reyna is my  _ dog _ , and she likes Malik just fine. She loves everyone. It’s just another one of his million excuses. 

“Okay...” I say, with the flip of a hand. “So, I’ve barely seen you for the past two months because of my dog?” 

“I guess,” he says, fiddling with the buttons on the controller. 

“If you’re embarrassed about living in your dad’s basement, you could take the job search a little more seriously, you know,” I say, cutting straight to the point. It doesn’t take a genius to see through him. I’ve told Malik a thousand times that I would help - he either refuses, or takes me up on the offer only to forget about it a week later. 

“God, would you get off my back about that?” he snaps. “You sound like my mom.” 

“Well, your mom must be a smart lady,” I say. “Because the fact that you have a degree in engineering and sit here all day playing… Call of Duty, or whatever it is that you play, is sad, Malik.” 

“Oh, ‘cause what you do is so relevant to your degree.” 

“It’s better than this!” I say, extending my arms to reference the pit that he’s turned the basement into. I can tell it was nice at one point - the whole house screams money, which explains why he’s able to sit on his ass and make fun of me - a receptionist with a studio art degree.

“I’m working on it, alright?” he says. “I just haven’t found anything I wanna do. Nobody’s hiring.” 

“If you’d actually look, you might find something,” I say, still standing. “Open Indeed once in a while. You’d be surprised.” 

“Don’t talk down to me,” he says. “You’re fucking annoying when you get all high and mighty.”

I exhale loudly, rubbing my temples as a headache sets in. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I mutter, then turn as I hear footsteps on the stairs. 

Descending with a laundry basket in hand is a man who I can only assume is Malik’s dad. I’ve never actually met him, and I’ve only seen a few pictures. My boyfriend isn’t really the ‘displaying photos’ type. 

“Oh - sorry,” he says, pausing on the steps. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“Not like you didn’t hear us,” Malik grumbles, casting his dad a nasty look. “Can’t your laundry wait?” 

I frown at my boyfriend. “It’s his house,” I tell Malik. “How are you gonna sit there and tell him what to do?” 

I give Malik’s dad a once-over; he’s probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. He looks to be in his late 40s or early 50s, but his body is toned and muscular. He’s tall, more than a head taller than me, with kind blue eyes. 

“I’m April,” I say, after Malik chooses not to respond. “Sorry I’m meeting you in the middle of a fight.” 

“We’re not fighting,” Malik mutters. 

“We are, but okay,” I say, extending my arm only to realize that Malik’s dad’s hands are full of laundry and can’t shake mine. “Oh, oops,” I say, blushing. “Just pretend that I shook it.” 

He smiles a radiant, gleaming smile. “I’m Jackson,” he says, then sets the basket down so he can shake my hand. “And there’s no need to apologize. I’ve met my son a few times.”

Malik completely ignores Jackson, facing the TV screen that’s been on the pause menu for almost ten minutes now. 

“Do you need anything?” Jackson asks me. “I just made salmon. There’s plenty to go around, if you’re hungry.” 

“Dad, she’s fine,” Malik says firmly. “Just do your laundry.” 

Jackson casts me one more glance before picking up the basket and heading towards the washer and dryer. “Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling over his shoulder. 

I return the smile as he turns around and walks away. As I stare at his back, my heart speeds up and my face gets hot as I whisper, “You, too.” 

…

I decide to spend the night with Malik who he falls asleep around midnight - and he sleeps like the dead. I lie there and stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his arm strewn across my middle, and breathe deeply as I try and coax myself to sleep. I count sheep, I meditate, I force my mind to go as blank as possible. But nothing works. 

So, I slip out of bed, carefully lifting Malik’s arm and placing it on the mattress, and creep up the stairs. I walk quietly through the dark house and slip through the back slider, to the backyard that’s illuminated by blue light coming from the pool. 

I knew there was a pool back here, but I had no idea how nice it was. It’s big - not olympic-sized, but close - and beautiful. I haven’t taken a night swim in years, and it’s just what I need after tonight. I thought spending time with Malik would be fun, not stressful. 

We didn’t resolve our fight earlier. After Jackson went upstairs, Malik went back to his game and I FaceTimed my best friend. Then, we went to bed irritated with each other while pretending that we weren’t - which is why I can’t sleep. 

I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’m alone. It doesn’t matter. I slip out of my pajama pants and fold them to rest on the end of a chair, then pull my shirt and bra off over my head. I shake my hair out of the loose ponytail it had been in, then take a deep breath as balmy summer air washes over my bare upper half. 

Just as I’m about to shimmy out of my underwear, someone clears their throat and I almost jump out of my skin. 

“Oh, my god!” I say, a hand to my heart. 

As my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I see Jackson sitting on a chaise on the other side of the pool. He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, wearing reading glasses and holding a beer. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I figured you saw me.” 

“I didn’t,” I say. 

I should be more embarrassed than I am. I should be  _ mortified _ as I stand topless in front of my boyfriend’s middle-aged father. But I’m not. If anything, I’m turned on. My nipples are hard beneath my hands and goosebumps have broken out over my entire body. 

“I’ll leave you be,” he says, getting up.

“No, don’t go,” I say, putting my bra back on without turning around. That’s on purpose, too. I want him to see me. “I didn’t wanna be alone, anyway.” 

He relaxes back into the chair, interested by what I’ve said. “You came out to the pool at midnight because you didn’t wanna be alone?” he asks. 

“Touche,” I respond, then slide into the deep end. The water is smooth and comforting, warmer than I expected.

I swim lazily to the other side of the pool, resting my arms on the concrete so I have a place to set my chin. I blink at Jackson; neither of us can take our eyes off the other. I’m not quite sure what’s happening between us, but I like it. 

“You should join me,” I say, kicking my feet. This is surreal - the ethereal light from the pool, the warm water, the humid air. I’m inside a bubble that I hope never pops.

“I shouldn’t,” Jackson counters, adjusting his glasses. 

“Why not?” 

“It would be wrong,” he said, trying to sound firm. I can tell by the tone of his voice, though, that that’s not really what he wants. 

“Why?” I ask. “It’s just swimming.” 

He shoots me a strange, dubious look. But there’s amusement in his eyes, too. “You’re flirting with me,” he says softly. 

I go underwater, staying below the surface to listen to the whir of the filter and the swoosh of my limbs moving. When I come up, my hair is slicked back and my skin is dewy as water drips slowly back into the pool. 

“I’m just a flirty person, I guess,” I say. 

Jackson stands, but he doesn’t get in. He does get closer to me, though, by sitting on the end of his chaise chair. Now, there’s only a foot or two of space between us. 

“Did you and Malik work things out?” he asks, trying to change the subject. 

“No,” I answer bluntly, because it’s the truth. “We almost never do.” 

“I know how that goes,” Jackson says. 

“I don’t think we’ll last much longer,” I say, pushing off the wall and doing a slow, lazy version of the butterfly while keeping my eyes on Jackson. “We’re not really working out.” 

“No?” Jackson says. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Hm,” I say. “Yeah.” 

Then, we’re silent. Enough is said without words - we don’t need to speak. I think he knows what’s on my mind, and I’m sure I know what he’s thinking. 

I pull myself out of the pool by the ledge - as close to him as I can without getting him wet. While lifting my body out, I press my arms in to create as much cleavage as possible, then stand to my full height. He’s staring so hard that my skin is practically burning, but I don’t look over. I know how I look right now with my white bra and underwear suctioned to my skin, see-through because of the water. It leaves nothing to his imagination, and I’m beyond satisfied.

I shake out my hair and lower my eyes after a moment, finally resting my gaze on him. He might as well be drooling. 

When he notices me looking, though, he snaps to attention. Scrambling off the chair, he says, “Let me grab you a towel.” 

“Thanks.” 

As he’s on his way back, I pick up my phone that had been resting on my clothes and take a picture of him. The flash isn’t on, so it doesn’t come out very clear, but it’s good enough. I need proof to show my best friend later - she won’t believe me otherwise. 

Something tells me that Jackson is fully aware that I took a photo, there’s something in his eyes that says it. He doesn’t acknowledge it, though. It simply adds more charge to the air that’s crackling with sexual tension. 

He hands me a blue towel and I wrap it around my shoulders, subsequently shrouding my body from view. “Thanks for keeping me company,” I say, my feet slapping the concrete as I head back to the house. “Goodnight.” 

…

The next day, I leave before Malik wakes up, writing him a note explaining where I’ve gone. I have to get home, because my best friend is waiting for news about what happened last night. 

Cristina is sitting with Reyna on our kitchen floor when I walk inside. “Finally,” she says, and the dog’s entire body wags as she walks in circles around my legs. “We’ve been waiting.” 

“Sorry, I slept in,” I say, kicking off my shoes. 

“Oh yeah, you were up late… with  _ Jackson _ ,” Cristina says. “Spill everything. Show me pics.” She makes a greedy gesture with her hands. “I’m ready.” 

I sit on the floor next to her and pull out my phone after Reyna plops her head on my thigh. “Okay, like I said… he’s older, and-” 

“I don’t want the backstory,” Cristina says, snatching my phone. She looks at the photo I have pulled up - the one I snuck last night - and her eyebrows practically shoot to her hairline. “Jesus Christ. You didn’t tell me he was a model.” 

“I know, right,” I say, looking at the picture over her shoulder. “He’s  _ so  _ hot.” 

“Hot damn,” she says, eyes still on the screen as she zooms in. “I wish it was less grainy. Should’ve turned your flash on.”

“Oh, and been totally obvious?” 

She snickers and says, “He’s looking right at the camera. He already knows.” 

“Ugh, I know,” I say. “It was like he  _ wanted  _ me to take a picture.” 

“He did,” Cristina says, point-blank. “He’s got a boner for you.” 

“Wait, he does?!” I shrill, grabbing the phone to try and zoom further. 

She throws back her head and laughs. “Not literally!” she crows. “Jesus, you’re thirsty. You need to get laid, babe.” 

“No, I need to get  _ railed _ ,” I say. “By him.” 

“Good god,” Cristina says. “Who _ are _ you? Where’s my virgin Mary, my pure little princess?” 

“Out the window,” I say, staring at Jackson. 

My best friend shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Hot for your boyfriend’s dad… who would’ve thought.” She meets my eyes. “What’s Malik gonna do?” 

“Freak out,” I say, putting my phone down. “But… I can’t ignore this. Like, I  _ can’t _ .” 

“I’m aware,” Cristina says. “You’re practically sliding across the floor right now, and all you’re doing is looking at a picture.” 

I smack her arm and laugh loudly. “You’re so nasty,” I say. 

We giggle for a little bit, then I lean my head against the cabinets behind us. “I have to break up with him.” 

“Malik?” she asks. I nod. “Oh, yeah. Like, yesterday. At this point, you’re just stringing him along.” 

“It’s not like he and I are going anywhere,” I say, trying to justify it. “I don’t even think he likes me very much.”

“Well, the good news is that his dad does,” Cristina says. “I never liked you and Malik together, anyway.” 

“Wow, shocker,” I say, pretending to be surprised. “I never would’ve guessed.” 

She shrugs, unapologetic. “I could’ve been meaner,” she says, then bumps my shoulder with hers. “And either way, Jackson is way too sexy to pass up. Break up with Malik today so you can get dicked down by his daddy tomorrow.” 

My jaw drops, but I can’t help my laughter. “You are awful,” I say. 

“Maybe so,” Cristina says. “But I’m right.” 

…

The next day, I break up with Malik over the phone. It isn’t an emotionless ordeal; we did have some good times together, and I’m not heartless. I cry a little bit, but he stays stoic. I expected him to be frustrated or confused - claiming that what I’m doing is coming out of left field. But, if anything, he’s accepting. It throws me for a loop. 

I feel bad about breaking up with him, though Cristina tells me that I should get over it. He didn’t put in half of the effort that I did, and our entire relationship was on his terms. I was basically just along for the ride, getting plucked off the shelf whenever he got bored. I doubt I broke his heart by ending things, but still… before now, I’d never been the dumper. Only the dumpee. 

But breaking up with Malik is better than leading him on, or worse - cheating. Ending things was for the best. I know that. 

As much as I want to move things forward with Jackson, I have no idea how to make it happen. It’s not like I can go over to the Avery house so easily anymore, being that Malik and I are no longer a thing. I don’t have Jackson’s number, and even if I did, I don’t think I’d be brave enough to text him. The other night was a fluke. Usually, I’m not so brazen. 

I don’t bother asking Cristina for advice. I’m not exactly sure what she’d tell me to do, but I doubt I’d like it. Instead, I stew in silence and wish for something to happen. 

Luckily, it does. 

Four days after mine and Malik’s breakup, my phone lights up with a text. A text from an unsaved number. 

**RECEIVED, 8:58pm - Hey, April. It’s Jackson Avery… Malik’s dad? It’s been a while. Hope you’re well. Miss seeing you around here.**

Instantly, my heart speeds up and my palms go clammy. He’s been thinking about me. I’m so heavy on his mind that he somehow got my number and texted me. 

And “been a while”? It’s only been four days. But I feel the same. I’m dying to see him. 

**SENT, 9:00pm - hey jackson!! I havent been around cus me and malik actually broke up. It was amicable, dont worry… but ya.**

**RECEIVED, 9:01pm- Oh, I see. That must be why I haven’t seen much of him lately.**

**SENT, 9:01pm - ya…. :/**

**RECEIVED, 9:02pm - I miss having you here. I liked your company.**

**SENT, 9:02pm - i liked your company too (: a lot**

**RECEIVED, 9:03pm - Is it too forward to invite you over tonight? I was going to have a drink in the hot tub, but I’d rather drink with you than drink alone.**

With my lips closed, I let out a high-pitched, excited squeal. I can’t believe this is really happening. 

**SENT, 9:04pm- not too forward at all (; i can be there in a half hour. And ill bring my swimsuit this time, lmao**

After throwing my white bikini into my bag, I toss the phone onto my bed and hurry to the shower. There’s no way I’m getting in the hot tub with Jackson without being perfectly shaved. 

…

I pull up to the Avery house wearing my bikini under a strapless romper, my purse thrown over one shoulder. We’re going to be in the water, so I put my hair in a pretty bun and kept the makeup to a minimum. I don’t want to look like a raccoon and make a fool of myself. 

Jackson texted to come around back, which I’m grateful for. I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into Malik. I’m not ready for that confrontation yet. 

I make my way to the pool area and see that Jackson is already in the hot tub, arms resting on the concrete behind him. “Hey,” he says, grinning. “You made it.” 

“I did,” I say, opening the gate. There are tiki torches lit tonight, the flames flickering over the water and making the atmosphere even more ethereal than it had been the last time we were here. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I started second-guessing my invitation right after I sent it.” 

“Why?” I ask.

“Well…” he begins. “You’re my son’s-” 

“I’m not his anything anymore,” I say. “We broke up.” 

“Well, you’re his ex.” 

“That’s all I am to him,” I say, stepping out of my romper and folding it nicely. I feel confident in my little bikini - it’s showy, yet classy. Cristina always says it’s the hottest one I own. 

Jackson can’t take his eyes off me, so he must agree. 

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says, and I step into the water. I keep a bit of distance between us, wondering how close I can get. I want to be on top of him, but I don’t want to rush things or seem like a whore, jumping from one Avery man to another. 

But I want him so bad. 

His body is firm and his muscles are established and hard, none of that ropy, teenage-looking stuff. His biceps are well-defined, as is his chest, but he’s not jacked. He has a little bit of a tummy - just enough to be cute. It only shows when he’s sitting; this is the first time I’ve seen it.

He doesn’t have much hair on his chest, but now that I’m this close, the grays in his beard stand out and I love them. I want to touch them; I want to run my fingers through his hair and feel his lips - I’m getting wet just thinking about kissing him. 

“I have wine, wine coolers, beer…” he says, noticing the silence that I spent drooling over him inside my head. “I could make you a margarita in the house, if you want. I wasn’t sure what you liked.” 

“A wine cooler would be nice,” I say.

“I have mango, fuzzy navel, and strawberry daiquiri,” he says, reading the bottles behind him. 

“Hmm,” I say. “Fuzzy navel, I think.” Our fingers brush when he hands me the bottle, and I say, “My navel isn’t fuzzy, though. Well, peach fuzz. Maybe. But not like,  _ fuzzy _ .” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” 

I can’t help but grin in response. “You wanna make sure I’m not lying?” I ask, flirting with him. 

“I probably should,” he says. 

I get closer, then stand up so my belly is above the water line. I reach for his hands and place them on my stomach, then cover them with my own. “See?” I say, though I’m surprised I can form words. My heartbeat is situated right between my legs; I can barely catch my breath with his hands on me. 

He smirks, rubbing my skin as his pupils dilate further in the low light. “Not fuzzy,” he says. “Your skin does feel amazing, though. It’s so soft.” 

“Uh-huh,” I say, knees practically quivering. No man has ever made me feel like this, and we’ve barely done a thing.

I think he knows what he’s doing to me, because he gets a cocky, sure-of-himself look on his face. A look that melts me even further as he slides his hands around to the small of my back. 

“Come closer,” he says, gently ushering me forward. 

In an instant, I’m on his lap - straddling his hips with my knees on the bench he’s sitting on. The water is frothy and bubbling around us, and I can feel his erection against my thigh. He wants this just as badly as I do. 

“You are so sexy,” I breathe, unable to keep it to myself any longer. 

“Me?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh no, sweetheart. That’s all you.” 

I wind my arms around his neck and spread my thighs further - now my core is right up against his. I wonder if he can feel how wildly my pulse is throbbing; I sort of hope that he can. 

“Kiss me,” I say, and he presses his lips to mine in the next breath. 

I’ve never been kissed in the way that Jackson kisses me. I hold his head tightly with both hands, parting my lips to let his tongue inside, and we devour each other without bothering to take things slow. There’s so much passion built up in my system - all meant for him - that I have a hard time controlling myself or the way my body is moving. 

With my hands on his head, his travel south to my ass. He grips tightly, squeezing me closer to him, as close as possible. I work my hips against him, finding a rhythm that suits us both, and breathe into his open mouth. 

“I want you, Jackson,” I pant, hips still moving. 

“Yeah?” he says, his teeth grazing my lower lip.

“I want you to fuck me.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, slipping his hands inside the back of my bikini bottoms. “I want that, too - so bad - but I need to know that you’re sure.” 

I whip off my top and run my hands roughly up his chest, arching my body against his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I say, and he groans. 

We don’t bother taking off the rest of our clothes. He shoves his swim trunks down as far as they need to go, pulls my bottoms to the side, then pushes inside me. 

I’m not about to compare Jackson and Malik, but Jackson is big. Like…  _ big  _ big. So big, that I lose my breath for a second and stop moving, adjusting my pelvis to get used to the way he feels. 

“You good?” he asks, cradling my jaw in his hands. 

“Yeah,” I sigh, rocking my hips again, searching for the rhythm I lost. My body stretches to accommodate him, and things start to feel good again. I don’t think I understood what it’s like to be filled until this point. 

Now, I definitely get it. 

I press my face into his neck and moan, my lips right next to his ear. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, wrapping his arms around my bare back. “God damn, April.” 

“Uh-huh,” I whimper, eyebrows shooting up as his hips jerk. “Oh, god.” 

I sit up and he presses his face between my breasts, biting the swells and sucking on my nipples roughly. I grab two fistfuls of his hair and let my head fall back, leaving my neck and chest exposed for him to ravage. 

“Mmm…” I whine, holding the back of his head as he sucks hard on my left breast. “Fuck me, Jackson. Fuck me, fuck me-”

“Hey, dad? Mom’s here.” 

“Holy shit,” I hiss, then dismount Jackson as fast as I can. 

I scramble to the other side of the hot tub, making sure the top of my head is below the rim. I keep my eyes and nose above the water, but stay where Malik can’t see me. I was being completely obscured by Jackson’s back before, so he has no clue that I’m here. 

“Mom’s here?” Jackson says, then clears his throat. I wonder if Malik can hear how different his dad’s voice sounds. Different, because he was just fucking me within an inch of my life, and neither of us got to come. 

“Yeah. She’s inside. Says she wants to talk to you about something, I don’t know. She just wanted me to come get you.” 

“Alright,” Jackson says. “Be right in.” 

I hear the slider door shut and sit up, fumbling for my bikini top floating nearby. “Um, holy shit,” I say. 

“Yeah,” Jackson says, adjusting himself ungracefully. His erection is huge and blatant - I’m not sure what he’s going to do about that. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” I say. “But… um, my car’s parked in the driveway. Malik is gonna know I’m here.” 

Jackson’s eyes go wide as dinner plates. “What?” 

My face heats up and I try to think fast. “I… I’ll figure something out,” I say, getting out of the hot tub and drying off as best I can. I don’t want to look wet - Malik can’t know that I was in the hot tub with Jackson. I put my romper back on and tie my hair into a tight bun, one that makes my damp hair less noticeable. “Just go inside,” I say, gesturing towards the house. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

I watch Jackson go in and wait a few minutes, enough to make it seem like we weren’t together. Then, I open the slider, walk through the kitchen and into the front room, where I see Malik, Jackson, and my little sister’s teacher, Lexie Grey, standing there talking. 

Instantly, Lexie’s face lights up. “April?” she says. “April! I had no idea that you knew my son.” 

“April?” Malik says, wearing an expression that’s beyond confused. “What are you doing here? And how do you know my mom?” 

His mom. His  _ mom _ . I was just fucking his dad, and his mom is here… his mom, who taught my sister how to read last year. 

I play it cool, though. I beg my heart to stop hammering and say, “Your mom is Bronny’s preschool teacher. We know her as ‘Ms. Grey’ around my house.” I smile, then wave at Lexie. “And yeah, hi! I do know Malik. He and I… we dated for a little while. I’m actually here ‘cause I think I forgot one of my chargers.” 

Malik looks at me weird. I’m dying to know what Jackson’s thinking, but there’s no way I can look at him. If I pretend he’s not there, we’ll look less suspicious. 

“Your charger? Seriously?” Malik says skeptically. “It’s not here. All the chargers in the basement are mine.” He rolls his eyes, then gives me another once-over. “Why are you wearing your swim top?” he asks, eyeing the straps on my shoulders. “And why is your hair wet?” 

I open my mouth to respond, to say something that makes sense, but not a single syllable comes out. 

Shit. 


End file.
